


Fluff

by Fable



Series: Merlin [28]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Fluff, Games, M/M, Taken, role play, woodland sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24354289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fable/pseuds/Fable
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are taken in the dead of night. Merlin is taken in a wood. And Gaius is taken by surprise. Again.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/33001
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Fluff

‘There’s nothing there, Merlin,’ Arthur said.

I took another look down the corridor. I swore that I’d heard a metallic ting, like a broadsword dragged across stone.

‘It’s your imagination again.’

‘I heard a noise.’

‘If there is an invader, I’ll protect you. Now. Come back to bed.’

‘What, with your mighty sword?’

‘Yes, Merlin,’ Arthur laughed, ‘with my mighty sword.’ He threw back the bedcovers.

I shivered, when Arthur’s chamber door was opened a cold breeze always found its way in. I was sure Arthur had the coldest chamber in the castle. I closed the heavy wooden door and scooted back towards the bed flapping my arms around my naked body as I went.

‘You look like a plucked chicken.’

‘Thanks. It’s cold.’

‘Warm in here though.’ Arthur smiled and nodded towards the space next to him.

I took a moment. How the hell did I get from chopping wood in the tiny village of Ealdor to becoming the Prince of Camelot’s lover in his mighty Citadel?

‘For God’s sake, Merlin, get in.’

I climbed under the covers and pushed my body up to him. He was soft and warm and tickly from the hairs on his strong limbs and broad chest. I giggled.

‘What?’

‘Your legs are tickling me.’

‘Glad I amuse you; I can further entertain you….’ He ran a calloused hand, I had a fondness for Arthur’s rough hands, down my back, stroked the mound of my backside, settled it with fingers hooked under my arse cheek, and drew me into him. I placed my hands on his face, bookmarking his nose, and kissed his smooth lips before moving down his neck towards the nape. His breathing was slow and shallow as he drove a knee between my legs forcing them apart, hot and yearning, he pressed into me…

…that’s when all hell broke loose. Or the door broke loose from its hinges. The heavy oak door skittered across the floor as if it were paper. Men charged in, lots of men, a blur of black and brown, a halo of dust, a cacophony of bellowing, and clanging of broadswords. The bed shook.

Arthur had reached for his sword and was stood on the bed in his fighting stance, legs apart, back bent, arms extended, in a blink. A naked warrior Prince. My naked warrior Prince. I wasn’t frightened, I never was in these situations, I could obliterate them with a nod of head and a flash of eyes, but I was afraid of having to use magic in front of Arthur.

‘Arthur Pendragon.’ A man with dirty clothes, smashed teeth, and a creased face, said. He looked at me and grinned a crooked smile, ‘I see we’ve interrupted, um, something…’ The men that had gathered around the bed guffawed as their long swords scratched the wooden floor.

‘Who are you? And what the hell are you doing in my palace? In my chamber?’ Arthur demanded. ‘If you’ve hurt my father, I’ll kill each and every one of you.’ He swung his sword in a wide arc.

‘Relax, Sire.’ The creased man said. ‘It’s not your father we want. It’s you.’

‘Why?’

A bald man threw Arthur his pants which had been discarded on the floor a few hours earlier. ‘Get dressed,’ he growled.

Arthur picked up the pants, jumped off the bed onto the floor, and yanked them on. ‘If it’s me you want then let my servant go.’

‘Oh, he’s your servant is he… I see he serves you in more ways than one.’ The creased leader said, and his men rumbled a laugh. ‘No, he needs to come and I might need his, um… services myself.’ He leaned towards me smelling of stale ale and wood smoke. Arthur’s blade appeared between us. My hero.

‘Leave. Him. Alone.’

‘Keep your pants on, Sire.’

A pair of cold hands dragged me out of bed. The bald man looked me up and down and said, ‘Thought you’d have gone for one of your knights, Sire, you know, to give you a good strong seeing to. This one’s a bit...’

‘What do you want?’ Arthur interjected.

‘Its not me that wants you, it’s the Lord.’

‘And, that is, Lord who?’

‘You’ll see.’

The journey out of the Citadel was easier than it should have been. The light from the braziers and sconces lit up the palace guards who were strewn along corridors, planted face down in the courtyard, and bent over walls at the gated entrance. Who the hell were these rag-bag men? Who could get into Camelot so easy? Knocking down guards whilst not awakening a single Knight? I was perplexed, but Arthur was furious. We were bound, back-to-back and wrists together, in a cart pulled by two mules. Our journey was slow and jarring and the wooden deck had a wafting reek of mould. Arthur never took his eyes off the leader. I knew he was working him out, watching for a weakness, figuring out his strengths.

I fell asleep – well, what with one thing and another, I’d been up all night. ‘Merlin.’ Arthur growled.

I opened my eyes. Had it been a dream? Was I wrapped up in a warm bed with a hot Prince moving rhythmically between my legs? The crumbling stone wall daubed with moss in front of me said otherwise. ‘What?’ I replied.

‘Our host awaits.’ Arthur tugged against the rope knots, shifting my hands with every yank.

I shuffled, at much as my bindings would allow, to look over at the man standing in a huge square entranceway. I didn’t recognise the man, but I did recognise my view of his fort. Dark stones, crumbling walls, two soaring towers book ending a long-toothed wall, and oozing decay, it was the Fallen Fort of Fionn built by a long dead people for their long dead King. So, the man in the archway had to be Lord Forestfell. The great name did not match the man’s ferocious reputation. What he wanted with Arthur I didn’t know. But I didn’t like it.

We were dragged off the cart, across a courtyard rimmed by the mouldering wall, and dumped, still bound, in front of Forestfell.

‘What the hell is this?’ Arthur demanded. ‘Release me. Now!’

‘Prince Arthur.’ Forestfell, with a wide grin, bowed in mock respect, ‘No. I don’t think so.’

He was a small man, swathed in animal skins, and decorated with chains of gold and pendants of bone. His face was once handsome but now it showed scars of battle and marks of disease.

The original smashed-teeth man drew his sword and held it over his head. Arthur struggled like a tied boar, throwing me and him onto our sides, my face now in the mud where there once were cobbles. The smashed-teeth man snickered as his sword whistled through the air.

I readied myself and prepared to incant.

The rope bindings between us freed with a sharp jerk as the sword sliced through them, I rolled to one side, Arthur to the other. We scrambled to our feet in unison and stood shoulder-to-shoulder and square-on to Forestfell. Arthur was ready to fight, and I was ready to defend my Prince.

‘Come, Sire,’ he said, and pointed towards the long corridor that led inside from the square doorway. As sword points jabbed our backs, we duly followed him.

Then like a boulder from the sky, Forestfell said, ‘A whisper tells me you two are lovers.’

I skidded to a halt, with Arthur stopping two steps ahead of me. ‘What?’ Arthur said, then, ‘what?’ again, then, ‘what the bloody hell has that got to do with you?’

‘Does Uther know?’ he laughed and I’m sure I could hear teeth rattling. ‘No.’ he shook his head, ‘my guess is not.

‘Your point?’ As Arthur moved in front of Forestfell, the Lord waved his advancing guards away.

‘Uther would want the most eligible bachelor in the known lands to be with a wealthy Princess. Not this skinny, but rather alluring, manservant.’ He pointed at me. Alluring? Me? I quirked a smile until I caught Arthur’s frown. ‘Would he not?’ Forestfell finished off.

Arthur, silent and clay-faced, moved closer to the Lord, close enough to breath the same air.

Forestfell didn’t flinch. ‘I have a messenger ready to ride to Camelot with a scroll, unsigned of course, that bears witness to what my men saw in your bedchamber,’ he nodded towards me, ‘with this…’ he smiled and swept his gaze down my body, ‘…fetching creature.’ Fetching? No, stop it Merlin. Bad man. Bad situation.

‘What do you want, Fores-ss-tfell?’ Arthur hissed.

The Lord turned away from Arthur and headed off down the corridor. We were bundled after him until we reached a chamber, well I say chamber, it was more like a cathedral. Looming stone walls with rows of deep windows that had lost their glass long ago. Through the gaps I could only see sky. Above them, a bowed and wood-beamed ceiling that had no visible support like a winter tree with no trunk. And it was cold, the kind of cold you feel in the dead of night on All Hallows’ Eve.

Forestfell sat on a throne, I presumed it was a throne, it was three times taller than a man, narrow, and made of stone with no fabric coverings or niceness of any kind.

‘In exchange for my silence.’ He paused. ‘I want.’ He stopped. No-one moved. Not the Lord, his henchmen, the smashed teeth man, the bald man, or even the air around us.

‘We’re leaving.’ Arthur, surprisingly, took my hand and yanked me towards the corridor. Blocked by the rag-tag and dusty henchmen, we were spun back round to face Forestfell. And waited. A cloud appeared in an empty window in the shape of a winged creature. Kilgharrah had crossed my mind, if all else failed I could call him – away from Arthur, obviously.

‘I want to watch,’ he eventually said.

‘Watch what?’ Arthur asked.

I looked at Arthur, sighed, and said, ‘Us. He wants to watch us. You know.’ On that, a rug was unfurled in front of us and a few worn cushions tumbled across it.

Arthur made a loud ppeerruff sound. ‘I am the Crown Prince of Camelot. I do not _perform_ for anyone!’

Forestfell chuckled as if he found the situation amusing and not amusing at the same time. ‘You’ll perform for me.’

I whispered in Arthur’s ear, ‘I can’t _perform_. If you know what I mean, there’s bad people watching… I can’t, um, operate with bad people watching.’ The henchmen were gathered in, jostling against each other, and whispering between themselves, some were looking at Arthur, but most of them staring at me. A strong draught flopped Arthur’s blonde hair over his blue eyes, he looked so ravishing, he always looked beautiful to me, even as a hostage in a creepy oversized chamber. Then, I realised, we were still holding hands. Oh… maybe… just maybe… I could…

Arthur flicked his hair away. ‘For the love of God, Merlin! We are not going to perform anything for this brute.’

Weirdly, a tiny bit of me was crestfallen. It must have shown on my face as Arthur said, ‘What? Merlin? No. It’s not happening.’

‘I know. I know.’ Of course, I knew. I looked at our hands, his rugged fingers entwined with my long pale ones, and silently spun a spell, blowing out a long breath on the last soundless vowel.

The walls of the chamber creaked and cracked. The flagged floor shook. A stone tumbled from an empty window frame and rolled across the rug in a dusty tipple-tail. Then another, Then another. The henchmen span in circles, heads craned upward, as broken beams fell from the ceiling, Forestfell ran across the rug, neatly dodgy falling masonry at the same time, and stopped in front of us. He looked deep into my eyes. ‘You,’ he snorted. ‘You did this.’

What? How the hell could he know that? I took a pace away from the man and the rapidly crumbling room, as I did, wall-chaos erupted. The chamber began to fold in on itself. Now we all had to run. True to form, Arthur yelled, ‘Run!’ And we did.

The thing is, Arthur and I are very good at running, we’ve ran away from mythical beasts, fabled characters, raging warriors, general people who wanted us dead, phantoms, spirits, shadows, mounted fighters, sorcerers, necromancers, whole armies, and… collapsing buildings.

I glanced behind me; the collapsing stones were picking off henchman after henchman as the corridor also started to collapse. Arthur and I spilled into the daylight alone. As we ran away from the Fort, Arthur panted, ‘Where’s Forestfell. Did you see him?’

‘Probably under piles of rubble.’

‘Lucky that the building decided to crumble at that very point.’

‘Yes. Yes. It was,’ I agreed.

‘We are very lucky sometimes, Merlin.’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

It was a long way back to Camelot with no horses. We’d both walked long distances before, sometimes days just to get home. But this time I was bored, there was no enemy on our tail, no treasure to get back to the vaults of Camelot, and no urgent message to deliver. We sauntered along through a dappled and misty wood, that quite frankly looked the same as every other bit of woodland on Uther’s lands.

‘Tree,’ Arthur said suddenly.

‘Tree?’

‘You. Against a tree. Hands above head. Trousers around ankles. Right now.’ Arthur had moved into my space and was untying my neckerchief. Then he brought my wrists together at the front of my body and tied them together with the red cloth. He propelled me with some force towards the nearest tree with a low branch, yanked my hands above my head, and tied them to it. The branch was not low enough for me to be comfortable stood, so I was on my tiptoes. Then Arthur spun me, like a puppet on a string, or a ballerina on point, until I was facing the trunk of the tree.

Pent up energy, unused adrenalin, whatever it was, I prepared to be pounded. Sometimes, Arthur liked to believe that he'd taken me without my permission. Even without words, I knew this was one of those times. So, I played along, ‘Please, Sire, don’t,’ I whined. His breathing quickened as I wriggled against my bindings. ‘I’ll do anything you want, please let me go,’ I pleaded. My trousers were yanked down to my ankles and a cold air blew up my tunic. ‘No. No, Sire.’

‘Shut up,’ Arthur growled and kicked my legs apart.

It was difficult to remain upright dangling from a tree, on tiptoes, and unbalanced, but Arthur helped me out there… by pinning me to the trunk.

He hooked his fingers under my arse, lifted me a little higher, and entered me, tenderly at first but then, as fitted the game we were playing, with a rough force. I cried out and pleaded with him to stop. I thought of myself as a good actor, I had to be, to hide my secret from Arthur and his father. My begging did the job and spurred him into a fervour. My face bashed into the rough bark with the thrusts, my hands chaffed against my bindings, and my legs burned from stopping myself from spinning. But I was in seventh-heaven, full of Arthur, with skin on skin, hearing him grunt, with nails digging into my side as he held me firm, and the cool breeze on my bare arse.

It didn’t take long, it never does when this fancy comes over Arthur, he finished with his head buried into my neck, and his hands splayed wide across my lower stomach, drawing me in so tight I didn’t know where I finished and he started.

I continued with the game. ‘Let me go, Sire, you’ve had your fun,’ I implored.

Arthur withdrew, spun me to face him, and with a growl said, ‘No, you can be my sex slave from now on. Seeing to my every whim. Polishing my armour naked whilst I take you from behind and then kneeling to clean my boots and getting a mouth full at the same time.’

Um, kind of what I did anyway. ‘Okay,’ I whimpered.

Arthur grinned and kissed me all over my face. ‘Thank you, Merlin. You know I love that game.’ He rubbed my sore arse vigorously with cold hands, pulled up my trousers, untied me, and then carefully smoothed my hair into place.

***

‘So, you like to be watched then?’ Arthur said as we collapsed onto his bed late that evening.

‘Oh. Yep. I do.’ And I did,

‘It can be arranged.’

‘What? By whom? Nobody knows about our, erm, bond.’

‘Bond, eh? Well, some people do.’

‘Some people! Who?’

‘I might have let it slip in the Tavern one evening.’

‘Who to?’

‘Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and the new knight, Hector.’

‘What? Now, now, I’m going to look like a, a, a courtesan.’

Arthur threw his head back and guffawed. ‘More like my bit of fluff. In fact your new name is Fluff.'

‘Arthur!’ I threw a pillow and it landed squarely in Arthur’s face.

‘Come here, Fluff. I think it’s your turn.’ Arthur grabbed me by the arm and hauled me towards him. Clearly our encounter with Forestfell, or our grapple in the wood, had not quelled his desire or his needs. He removed my tunic and pressed his hand down the front of my trousers, I breathed in to give him more room, and he cupped me in a strong, heart-stopping clasp. ‘We can play another game,’ he said and squeezed. ‘You can be a wicked sorcerer who’s put a spell on me to serve your every need.’ Little did he know…

‘Merlin! Merlin?’

Arthur and I disentangled and shot off his bed as if the mattress were in flames. We hadn’t heard Gaius enter. We never seem to hear Gaius enter. The amount of times he’s caught us, and the amount of times he’s turned the other cheek, are now no longer countable on my fingers. However, today he looked surprised and probably a little pissed.

‘Sire.’ Gaius nodded at Arthur, then said, ‘Merlin. Where the hell have you been?’

I had been missing from Gaius’ life for two days now so the perfect thing to say was not the thing that came out of my mouth. ‘Um... Picking herbs.’ I glanced at Arthur, who shrugged and sauntered, hands in pockets, past Gaius, and out of his chamber.

‘Merlin. Or should I say, Fluff? Please try and keep your clothes on when you’re around Arthur. Better still, keep your clothes on and ensure the Prince’s hands are firmly to himself.’

‘Gaius!’

He shook his head. ‘Come. We’ve got work to do. There’s a battered Nobleman in the courtyard asking for help and muttering something about a sorcerer. He’s badly wounded, and if I didn’t know any better, it looks as if a whole building has fallen on him.’

My heart skipped.


End file.
